


The Mystery of the Missing Sword

by freyjawriter24



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), M/M, Mystery, Private Investigator Marjorie Potts, except it's just a normal sword in this one. and it's missing.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: The Angelus family’s prized heirloom, a sword that’s been in their family for generations, has gone missing. Gabriel – head of the family, after the recent death of the siblings’ mother – has called in a PI to help. But will Tracy and her nephew Crowley be able to track down the missing artefact? And what’s going on with the youngest Angelus sibling, Aziraphale?***Written for the Mystery AU event.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24
Collections: GO-Events Good Omens Mystery AU Event Works





	The Mystery of the Missing Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [bisasterdi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisasterdi) and [darcylindbergh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcylindbergh) for organising this event. You're amazing!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** So, for this fic I wanted Tracy to be a Private Investigator (PI) rather than a police officer, because I wanted the investigation to be more along the lines of a casual/cosy mystery than a detailed police procedural. Once I had that down, though, I realised there’d be little reason that the police _wouldn’t_ be involved in some way or another, so I basically decided they don’t exist in this universe; instead, the various functions of the police are taken up by other organisations, such as social workers. (This kind of thing is what some people mean when they say ‘abolish the police’.)  
> In this world, when an already-happened crime is reported (such as a priceless artefact going missing, presumed stolen), a Public Investigator (PubI) is sent in. If desired (and if the person can afford it), the case can be transferred to a PI instead (much like how public versus private healthcare works in the UK right now). I have not thought about this system in great detail beyond that, so please don’t interrogate me about the worldbuilding, I just wanted to use my own (easier) system rather than spend hours researching the real one.  
> All of which is a long way of saying: there's no police investigation here, just PI Marjorie Potts and her nephew, please don't question it.

Crowley rang the doorbell and shivered, wishing – not for the first time that morning – that he’d had the foresight to bring something slightly warmer than his cropped leather jacket.

It wasn’t his fault _really_ – it was summer, after all, and the weather had looked nice from his bedroom window. But the blue skies had been more than a little deceptive today, and the air had a definite chill to it. Oh well. That was Britain for you.

A long, cold moment later, a woman the colour scheme of a summer fête swung the door open. Her hair, a vibrant orange that wouldn’t look natural on anyone, let alone someone clearly over the age of fifty, was somehow narrowly avoiding clashing horrifically with the purple of her eyeshadow and deep pink of her lipstick, both of which were chosen to precisely match the vivid colours of her flowing blouse and skirt. The outfit was topped off with blocky lime-green jewellery that were the exact same shade as her shoes. “Crowley! You made it!”

He couldn’t help but mirror her enthusiastic smile. “Hi Tracy.”

“Come on in, dear. It's a bit nippy out there today, let’s get you warmed up. And how’s my favourite devious little demon?”

Tracy’s love language seemed to chiefly comprise food, warmth, and affectionately-meant insults. With two of the three accounted for, she led the way up to the flat and immediately offered her young guest a cup of tea and a slice of cake. Tracy didn’t believe there was such thing as ‘too early for cake’.

“Sounds great, thanks. Unless you’ve got any coffee?”

Tracy rolled her eyes. “Bad habit, young man. I suppose university’s done that to you.”

“It’s no worse for you than tea! Just… tastes stronger.”

“Mmm. Tastes _worse_ if you ask me.” She bustled around in the kitchenette, and left Crowley to flop himself down onto one of the two small sofas positioned in one of the corners of the room. She did, however, eventually bring him a black coffee, as well as a full tea set on a tray, two plates, and a slightly lopsided carrot cake.

“Right then,” Tracy said, sitting down on the other sofa and pouring out her tea. “Are you ready for today?”

Crowley groaned. “Do I _have_ to? Can’t I just have a break for once, and not be shunted from one thing to another?”

“Your parents wanted you out of their hair and doing something _useful_ with your time. So unless you’ve got any better ideas that are either going to earn you either work experience or money, you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

“But even _you_ don’t think it’ll be worth it! You’ve told me a hundred times that it’s not as exciting as it sounds. I’ll be _bored_.”

Tracy cocked an eyebrow. “Well, then, it’ll prepare you for a life of repetitive office work. Which is basically what you’re stuck with unless you decide on something else.”

Crowley scrubbed a hand up his face dramatically, and only then remembered he was wearing sunglasses. He pulled them off, and was almost blinded by the true brightness of Tracy’s clothes. He blinked a little, then went back to the argument at hand. “I’m at uni. Aren’t I allowed to still be a little indecisive?”

“I’m sixty. _I'm_ still indecisive. I’ve been a PI for twenty years and still have two separate side jobs just for the fun of it. What I’m _saying_ is you need to be prepared to do boring work sometimes to keep food on the table. It’s all well and good wanting a fun life and a job you love, but until you decide on what that job is, you’re going to need to pick something dull and deal with it.”

Tracy sipped her tea. “Besides, it’s either this or getting an actual job. So if you fancy stocking shelves at Sainsbury’s or moving boxes around a warehouse, be my guest. But I can guarantee that this’ll be at least _marginally_ more interesting.”

Crowley sighed. “You paying me?”

“In lunch and love, kiddo.”

“Good enough. What’s first on the agenda, then?”

* * *

Tracy’s only appointment for the day wasn’t until eleven, so there was plenty of time to brief her nephew on what was expected of him and what _not_ to do or say in front of a client. As someone technically there on work experience, Crowley would essentially be shadowing Tracy for the next few weeks, helping out with research but not doing anything independent.

He had to sign an official-looking document that told him to keep all details he learned of any cases a secret, and Tracy gave him a little booklet she’d clearly downloaded and printed out from the government website, which had little boxes for Crowley to write in what he’d learned each day of the work experience. He grumbled a little at that, but Tracy just laughed and told him to be a good boy and do his homework.

“And yes,” she added as the clock climbed towards eleven. “I will be making you make the tea, because I’m in charge.” She fluttered her eyelashes and blew Crowley a kiss, which he caught, threw to the ground, and pretended to grind into the floor under his shoe. Tracy pretended to be scandalised.

The bell rang.

“Ooh, you can go and get that if you want,” Tracy said. “Makes me feel all posh, having an assistant running around for me.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Crowley growled, but he dutifully stood and headed for the door.

“You might need to give the latch a bit of welly, dear,” she called after him. “It can get stuck sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley muttered under his breath. He knew this door latch well, and was fairly certain Tracy had only avoided replacing it just to irritate him personally. It was verging on a health and safety hazard, really.

For once, though, the latch opened smoothly on the first try – which, unexpected as this outcome was, resulted in Crowley almost falling over as the door swung towards him with far more force than it needed. He recovered himself quickly, though, and plastered on a customer service smile to greet the client on the other side.

They were tall and immaculately-dressed, and almost certainly someone who would proudly tell people that they ‘work in the City’. A long, pale-grey woollen coat was done up over a similarly-coloured suit, with a shiny lilac tie visible at the neck. Their dark hair was impeccably neat, and they stood with a clear air of confidence and slight disdain at the rest of the world.

“Hello young man!” the client said, far too brightly. Crowley suppressed an eye-roll. [1] “Is this the right address for Marjorie Potts?”

Crowley blinked, before remembering that that was actually Tracy’s real name. “Yes. I take it you’re the eleven o’clock?”

“Spot on!” the client said. Crowley half expected the exclamation to be followed up with ‘young man’ again, or maybe something even worse like ‘old sport’, but when that turned out to be the end of the sentence, he quickly avoided further discussion by inviting them inside.

Crowley led the way up the stairs and into the flat, where Tracy was stood by her desk, intently reading the document she’d made Crowley sign earlier. The instant the client stepped into the room, though, she put down the paper and strode confidently forwards, looking every inch the professional – even considering her unlikely dress sense.

“You must be Gabriel,” she said warmly. “I’m Marjorie, pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise!” Gabriel said, sticking a hand out. Tracy took it without hesitation, and held her own against what appeared to be an almost aggressively firm handshake. Crowley immediately found himself locating the nearest bottle of hand sanitiser, and decided to discreetly bring it over when he brought out the tea.

“And this is Crowley,” Tracy added. “He’s my nephew and is doing some work experience with me over the summer. He’ll be assisting me with any research required whilst resolving your case, if that’s alright with you?”

Crowley gave a little wave.

“Erm, sure.” Gabriel said. There was a slight uncertainty there for a moment, Crowley noted, but it vanished quickly. “Fine by me!”

“Would you like a drink?” Tracy offered, gesturing loosely at the kitchenette. “We have tea, coffee…?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

Gabriel shrugged their coat off and Tracy nodded towards the hooks behind the door, beside where Crowley was standing. Which was how Crowley ended up with an armful of coat. He glared meaningfully in Tracy’s direction and she flashed him an apologetic look as soon as Gabriel wasn’t looking.

Crowley grumpily hung up the coat and set about making tea for himself and Tracy, and coffee for the clearly-far-too-used-to-having-other-people-do-things-for-them client. Behind him, the other two sat on the sofas, and exchanged pleasantries about the weather and how the journey was.

When the drinks were done, Crowley brought them over on the tray as Tracy had done earlier, then grabbed the notebook his aunt had given him and sat beside her on the sofa, trying to look both professional and unimposing.

“Crowley will be taking notes during our meetings, so we don’t lose any key information,” Tracy explained. “We may also record audio of any interviews we do, with consent of all parties.”

“Right,” Gabriel nodded.

“Well, then. Shall we begin?”

The situation, rather interestingly, was that Gabriel’s family’s sword – an ancient thing that apparently had a lot of history behind it, though Crowley got the impression Gabriel didn’t personally know any of that history – had gone missing. Gabriel had discovered that the weapon had vanished last week, on his way out for an early-morning jog, and had of course immediately called the Public Investigators on the assumption that it had been stolen. By the time the PubIs had gotten there, the rest of the household was up and were astonished at the theft.

The PubIs had concluded that there were no signs of forced entry anywhere on the property, nor were there fingerprints in or on the sword’s empty case belonging to anyone other than the family and the staff. Gabriel had then transferred the case over to Tracy.

“So, who is in your household?” Tracy asked.

“It’s just me and my siblings at the moment. Our mother died recently, you see.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you. So yes, just us. That’s me, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon... oh, and Aziraphale. And then in terms of staff we also have the housekeeper, Beelzebub, my personal assistant, Dagon, the butler, Eric, and the cook, Hastur. We recently had to let go of my mother’s personal assistant, Ligur, of course, which happened prior to the sword disappearing, but it was entirely amicable. I’m sure he’s available for comment, though, if you want to interview him too.”

Crowley scribbled furiously, racing to keep up with the speed of information Gabriel was delivering.

“That’s very helpful, thank you,” Tracy said. “Is there anything else you think would be important for me to know at this stage?”

“Nothing that jumps out at me. But I have your number, if I think of anything.”

“Of course. When would be best to come and speak to everybody? I can come more than once, if everybody’s free at different times.”

“This weekend,” Gabriel said firmly. “We all work weekdays – well, those of us who work, at least – and Friday is the staff’s day off, but everyone will be in the house on Saturday.”

Crowley couldn’t help but pick up on that note of derision in Gabriel’s voice. Who among the family, he wondered, didn’t work? And why was Gabriel so scathing of that fact? The family clearly had money, so it wasn’t like it was an issue. He tried not to judge, but he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Perfect.” Tracy pulled her phone out and opened her calendar. “What time would be suitable to come along?”

“Let’s say nine-thirty. That’ll give you the best chance of conducting as many interviews as possible over the course of the day, yes?”

“Wonderful.”

The PI confirmed the address and her client’s contact details, then stood and thanked them for coming. The others stood too, and moved towards the door.

“Thank _you_ for accepting the case!” Gabriel said, as if he never thought there was a chance she’d reject it.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Tracy began. “Why did you decide to come to a Private Investigator?”

“Well, I did some research and you came very highly recommended, I must say–” Gabriel began, but Tracy shook her head.

“No, I meant why a _Private_ Investigator, rather than letting the PubIs handle it.”

“Oh.” Gabriel seemed surprised by the question. “Well, discretion, I suppose. It being likely the perpetrator was close to the family, you see.”

“Right, of course.” Tracy smiled sweetly. “Well, you can certainly count on our discretion.”

At that, Gabriel seemed to remember that Crowley was there for the first time since the meeting began. “Yes, I’m sure. As I say, you were very highly recommended.”

There was a quiet pause, and then Gabriel slapped their own thighs. “Right! I’m off. Where’s my coat?”

Crowley found himself being stared at intently, as if he’d gone and hidden it somewhere. “Um, right there,” he said, pointing at the coat hooks behind the door: right next to him, in full view of Gabriel.

“Ah, yes.” Finally realising the coat wasn’t going to get handed to them on a silver platter, Gabriel stepped forward and unhooked it, shrugging it on and smoothing it down in a practised, movie-star-esque, self-important way.

“I’ll let Crowley show you out,” Tracy said, glancing rather pointedly behind her at her desk.

Crowley glared at her for that, but she just looked at him serenely, in a very ‘what are you going to do about it?’ way. So he did as he was asked, and led Gabriel back downstairs, opening the door for him at the bottom.

Again, to Crowley’s surprise, the door opened smoothly. He managed to avoid nearly falling over this time, but once Gabriel had left he tested it a couple of extra times. Perfect smoothness, no stick at all.

“Did you fix the front door?” Crowley called in mild annoyance as he mounted the stairs again. He could hear Tracy laughing even before he got to the door to the flat.

“Oh, did you notice?” she asked innocently.

“Only when I almost fell on my arse. You told me to pull it hard!”

She laughed again. “Just a bit of fun. Plus, if you embarrass yourself in front of the client, it can only make me look better by comparison.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You didn’t have to do that. Embarrassed myself enough by almost forgetting what your official name is, _Marjorie_.”

Tracy grimaced. “Ugh. That’s Ms Potts to you.” She flopped down onto the sofa, looking far more relaxed and like herself than she had done as an ultra-professional PI. “I don’t hate it as a name, but Tracy just feels more… _me_ , you know?”

“I do indeed,” Crowley said, sprawling himself across the adjacent sofa. ‘Anthony’ was his given name, but it _definitely_ wasn’t _him_. Everyone had called him by his surname since he was old enough to express the preference, so most of his life.

“Why d’you use it for your other jobs, though?” Crowley found himself asking.

Crowley was familiar with his aunt’s ‘side jobs’, which were carried out in the mirroring flat on the other side of the stairwell. Well, not _familiar_ familiar – he’d never actually been to one of her séances, and Tracy had always been extra discreet about her _other_ professional activities – but he knew enough. And he knew that she was ‘Madame Tracy’ for both of them.

“Well, I can be more _me_ with those,” she said simply. “If I do something ridiculous around someone who knows me as Tracy, I know they’ll be okay with it, because they know that’s who Tracy is. I have to be a bit more careful as Marjorie, because the clients usually expect a little more… decorum. And less messing around.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

He wondered idly whether he should divide his own personas into ‘Anthony’ for work and ‘Crowley’ for everything else. Then he decided he didn’t like ‘Anthony’ enough to do that, and figured he’d be better off choosing a different name altogether. He’d been considering going down the mononym route for a while, though.

“You were very… professional-mode,” Crowley thought aloud. “Marjorie is very business-like.”

“Did you notice my ‘very busy but I’ll spare some time for you’ bit?” Tracy grinned.

Crowley looked at her. “You mean how you were very intently reading my bit of paperwork when we came in?”

Tracy nodded, and looked a little proud. “I learnt it at a seminar for women in business. Apparently clients – especially men – like it when you’re clearly stopping yourself from doing something else in order to speak to them. Something about power and feeling important, I think. And of course confidence is key. Make sure you don’t hesitate at any point, and if you make a mistake that they notice, correct yourself once with confidence and don’t bring it up again.”

“Nice.” Crowley was actually a little impressed. “Isn’t that first bit basically using their sexism against them?”

“That’s what I thought! Play into their tendency to interrupt and use it to make them feel special.” Tracy smiled, looking off into the distance. “That was a fun seminar. We all went out for drinks afterwards, ended up at a club.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile a little at that. He’d been to enough family weddings to imagine that scenario fairly well.

“What about that last question you asked, as Gabriel was going out the door?”

“About why he’d chosen a PI?”

“Yeah.”

“I always ask that one. Every client. It can tell you a lot about them, about what they think about the PubIs, and PIs by comparison. Sometimes it’s about discretion, like Gabriel. Sometimes it’s just because it’s ‘the done thing’ for people like them – too rich for their own good, think paying for something makes it automatically better. They don’t seem to realise that all our paperwork and all the science-y detail is handled by the PubIs anyway.” Tracy rolled her eyes. “Sometimes it’s more about getting an answer quickly – since PubIs have most of the work, it’s often quicker to go through a PI, and some people are really very impatient.”

She sighed then, and a distant look came into her eyes. “It’s not always impatience, though. I had one family come to me who had had something stolen – a personal item, though one that would be worth a bit of money to the robber – and the person whose it was was in a hospice. She knew she didn’t have long, and she wanted to be buried with it.”

“That must have been a tough one,” Crowley said gently. “Did they get it back?”

Tracy blinked damp eyes rapidly. “Oh, yes, thank goodness. It was all very emotional. But she got her wish.”

They sat there for a moment, Crowley letting Tracy get lost in her memories. He wondered how raw Gabriel’s mother’s death still was for their family. That would be something to keep in mind during interviews. Try to be tactful about it.

“Anyway,” Tracy said, getting up from the sofa and moving to put away the crockery. “I think it’s time for lunch. Shall we eat out for your first day?”

“Sounds good to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 It was alright when Tracy did it, because at least there was an element of sarcasm there. Strangers calling him ‘young man’, though, was enough to make Crowley cringe, if not physically leave the room. It was just _weird_. [return to text]
> 
> **Other notes:**
> 
> I’ve decided to set this fic in a post-current situation world, hence the thing about the hand sanitiser. I kind of hope handshakes will fall out of fashion after all _*gestures at everything*_ this, but I guess they survived when something similar happened a century ago, so who knows.
> 
> A mononym, in case you were wondering, is what it’s called when you officially only have one name. From the [official deed poll website](https://deedpolloffice.com/change-name/restrictions-on-names#single-names):
>
>> There is no law preventing you from being known by a single name, or mononym — that is, a first name only, with no surname — and HM Passport Office should accept such a name, although they may be more sceptical of your application.  
> On a passport, a single name will be shown in the surname field, with XXX (i.e. three X's) shown in the forename field. They may also include an official observation explaining the situation.


End file.
